


Forgiveness

by evilwriter37



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Beating, Body Memories, Episode: s05e11 Family on the Edge, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied Incest, M/M, PTSD, Prison, Rape, Whipping, Whump, arrow wound, dagur!whump, dagur's time in prison, hair cutting, implied dagur/heather, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Dagur suffers from flashbacks when locked up by the Dragon Riders for supposedly being a spy. When he gets out, Heather accompanies him to Viggo's shipyard to prove that he isn't a spy.





	Forgiveness

Dagur was surprised that he wasn’t enraged when the Dragon Riders locked him up. Instead he was frustrated, desperate. They thought he’d been sent by the Hunters and was there to sabotage their plan. Of course, neither of those things were true. He just wanted the Riders, especially Hiccup since he was their leader, to see that Viggo’s shipyard was a death trap and that any attempt on it would mean either capture or suicide. When it came to Viggo, capture was the worst of those two outcomes. Dagur had hardly spent time with him, but with the way Ryker and the other Hunters feared him, and the short time he had been around him, it was easy to figure out that he was immeasurably cruel, crueler than he himself was… well, had been. 

Dagur stuck his head between the wooden bars to get closer to Hiccup, who was glaring at him, a sight he was used to, but one he didn’t want, or deserve, right now.

“Use your brain, Hiccup!”

“I am,” Hiccup snapped back. “And right now it’s telling me I shouldn’t trust you.” He narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Even after what I did for you?” Dagur asked incredulously. “You and Toothless would be dead without me! If I had been working for the Hunters, would I have really tried so hard to keep you away from them?”

Hiccup ground his teeth. He was clearly confused, in emotional turmoil. 

“You’re a spy,” he accused, shoving aside the confusion and empathy that Dagur had seen in his eyes, settling on the anger and the hatred. Dagur realized he wouldn’t be getting through to him now.

So, Dagur instead turned to his sister, standing a little ways away. Her expression was difficult to read.

“Heather, come on, you don’t believe me?”

“What reason do I have to believe you?” Her voice was hard, dripping with malice. She stalked over, and the ferocity in her gaze made Dagur take a step back. The door was locked though, and Hiccup had the key. She wanted to kill him, but at least in here Dagur was safe from her. 

“I’ve never lied to you,” Dagur told her, voice soft so as to persuade her. It was the truth. He’d told many lies to many people, but never to her. Everything that had left his lips as his head rested on their shared pillow and he stared at her had been honest. He’d shared his most heartfelt secrets with her, his fears and desires, and she had apparently thought it all a lie. Had the things she’d told him been true? Had _any_ of it been true, or had the way their lips touched and their flesh slid together all been a lie too?

Well, he hadn’t told her absolutely everything. She wouldn’t know why now it felt like the walls of the dragon stall he’d been thrown into were closing in around him, why sweat tingled on his palms and the back of his neck. 

“That’s a load of yak-shit,” Heather spat. “You said you loved me.”

She… she thought he was lying about that too? Dagur felt like she was taking a hammer to his chest, like she was using the axe strapped to her back to chop away at him.

“I do.” He said it quietly, hurt, feeling overwhelmed by emotion and on the verge of tears. “Why do you think I went looking for you? Why do you think-”

“Shut it!” Heather’s voice suddenly rose into a shrill, furious yell. She turned to Hiccup as she stepped away from the makeshift cell. “We should have gagged him before putting him in there.”

Dagur was very glad that they hadn’t. He would have only felt more helpless than he already did. 

It appeared that that was the end of the conversation. The Dragon Riders began to leave, Shattermaster with them. Dagur raced back to the bars.

“Wait! Hiccup!”

No answer. The door slammed shut and he was left in darkness save for the flickering light of the lone torch.

  
  
  


There was nowhere to sit in the stall, so Dagur settled for a mound of clean hay that would at least be more comfortable than the floor. He didn’t know what to do. Hiccup and Heather were going to go on a mission that would have them captured or killed. Dagur didn’t want either of those to happen, especially capture for Heather. He’d seen the way Viggo had looked at her, how he had put an arm around her, and he had no idea what he’d said to her in private, what had happened that night between them. He certainly had his assumptions about it, and none of them were good. He knew what Viggo would do to her if he had the chance.

And then there was Hiccup. He loved him too. For years it had been an attraction to him, an obsession, but shipwrecked alone on that island, he’d realized his feelings were something more. He cared for him, which was why he’d helped him escape from the Dragon Hunters, why he was trying to help him now. He didn’t want anything bad happening to him either. Torture awaited him at Viggo’s hands. 

Hiccup and Heather had gone through enough strife and pain in their lives. They didn’t need more.

So there was the dread of all that, the frustration that they wouldn’t listen to him. There were other emotions roiling around tumultuously as well. They’d _locked him up_ . They’d put him in a cell and _left_ him there. There probably hadn’t been any thought as to why he would despise such a thing. Why would Dagur the Deranged, Cracker of Skulls and Slayer of Beasts, Chief of the Berserkers, fear being bound and locked up? 

There were many reasons, reasons that were haunting him now, that were prying at his brain with rough, unwanted fingers. Distraught, Dagur whimpered and pulled his knees up, pressed his forehead to them. He tried taking a deep breath but his chest felt tight. His throat ached and tears stung at his eyes. He supposed, at least now he was all alone to cry.

  
  
  


_His first night in prison had been a nightmare. Guards had stripped him of his weapons and torn off his armor. He'd expected, or at least hoped, to be put in a cell all on his own. There he could take out the frustration of his loss on the wall, or make a plan on how to get out. Of course he had to get out. He was a chief with no heirs. He couldn't leave his people all on their own, especially not in the aftermath of a war._

_And there was Hiccup. He still had to get to Hiccup._

_But Hiccup hadn't saved him. Hiccup had left him in here._

_Dagur was not given a cell on his own. He got thrown into a large one crowded with men that were rougher-looking than him, unkempt, wild, bigger and older too. They'd begun coming to the front of the cell as he was being dragged towards it, and now with the door slammed and locked behind him, they were all crowded around him and appraising him. He had nothing but the rusty bars at his back, but he didn't grab at them, nor turn around and call for a guard. He couldn't show fear, though certainly there was fear. It was coursing through his blood, mingling with the rage, making it sizzle and then simmer out in smoke. Now he was left with ice and his stomach turning._

_The men parted for a single tall one with long, lanky dark hair. A jagged scar crossed over his jaw._

_"Huh, new meat," he commented, looking Dagur over. Dagur hardened his jaw and clenched his hands into fists. He could take these men. "Who're you?"_

_"Dagur," he answered. His voice cracked out of terror._ Shit _. "Dagur the Deranged, Chief of the Berserkers, Cracker of Skulls, Slayer of-"_

_"You're not a chief here," the man told him with a laugh. He looked around the crowd. They were drenching Dagur with the stench of unwashed bodies and old blood. "None of us are. You get put in here, your former self is dead."_

_"No." Dagur didn't know why he said it, why he lifted his chin when he did. It was entirely pointless._

_"No?" The man chuckled. He came forward and grabbed Dagur by the chin. Usually, Dagur would have punched someone for doing that, but he'd never been this afraid in his life. The man's next words were to the group around him. "You know, lads, I think we can have fun with this one."_

_The man suddenly yanked on him and shoved him into the crowd of people. Dagur yelled in panic, flailed and kicked. Hands landed on him and he tried his best to fight them off. He attempted to punch, to bite, but he was never able to land anything firm. There were too many of them._

_Dagur wasn't sure what they were trying to accomplish until his tunic was torn and taken from him. Panic seized his gut, made him go wild. He fought harder, screaming. Punches landed in quick succession on his stomach and he went down onto the rocky ground, curled in on himself._

_"No point screaming, boy," a gruff voice told him. "There's always screaming in here. No one will come to help."_

_Dagur still wanted to, but he couldn't, was busy trying to get his air back, tears of pain burning the corners of his eyes._

_"No," Dagur got out hoarsely as uncaring hands grabbed at his pants. He caught his breath as they were being slid down, was able to shriek: "_ No! No-o-o! _Let_ go _of me!"_

_Yelling always got Dagur what he wanted. People listened to him when he yelled, but not this time. His yells were ignored as if his attackers were deaf. But no, they were just cruel and uncaring._

_He tried kicking, but his boots were being pulled from him along with his pants, his legs twisted and trapped. "Stop,_ stop! _"_

_None of it mattered. Soon he was naked. His tears were falling now, and he couldn't keep himself from sobbing._

_"Get on your hands and knees." That was the same man that had started all this. He seemed to be the leader of the group. Only later would Dagur wonder how one achieved higher status among the other prisoners._

_"_ No! _"_

_A kick landed in his ribs. There was a snap and Dagur inhaled sharply. The pain that came with each breath had him gulping like a fish. One of his ribs was broken and he was about to be... his mind rebelled at the word, didn't let it surface._

_"Do it!"_

_He couldn't. Not when he was in this much pain, not when he knew what was coming next._

_Rough, bruising hands on him, rolling him onto his stomach where he lay choking and gasping. There was a cruel hand pulling hard on his braid, and he found himself forced onto his hands and knees to alleviate the stinging._

_"Now hold him down so I can get my cock in him."_

_Dagur was only capable of a whimper._

_The hand didn't let go._

  
  
  


Though Dagur didn't have the braid anymore, now it felt like it was still there, like someone was tugging on it. There was a stinging in his scalp. There were hands holding down his wrists, his legs. He wanted to fight but his hands were bound and there were too many of them. Dagur was now huddled in a ball on his side, eyes closed, tears on his cheeks. The flashbacks kept coming. If only he knew they were flashbacks.

  
  
  


_They left him alone after. For a while he just laid there, bleeding, hurting, crying. He didn't move to retrieve his ripped clothes until he'd been shivering for a few minutes. He managed to wipe some of the blood away, an action that was terribly humiliating because of where it was, and then dress in slow, pained movements. Then he laid down on his side, though of course not on his hurt rib. He didn't know what to do now. The men had all left him, were talking amongst themselves, laughing, having a good time like they hadn't just raped someone. Or maybe they were laughing_ because _they had. They_ were _in prison._

 _Dagur was mad now. He didn't belong here. What crime had he committed? Was going to war a crime? They hadn't even held a Thing to figure that out. Sure, Berk was mad with him. Of_ course _Berk was mad with him. But then shouldn't he be in Berk's prison?_

_Though of course there was the fact that he'd attempted, (and had supposedly), killed Alvin. That must have been why there'd been no process for him, why he'd been thrown into a cell filled with horrible men to assault him._

_He was mad at Hiccup, at Stoick, at Alvin, at all the men who had defiled him, at the ones who had punched and kicked him, held him down. He was seething, furious. He wanted to punch people, grab at them, gouge their eyes out, tear out their teeth, kick till they were choking on their ribs. He especially wanted to find a weapon and use it to slice and rip and rend flesh, spill blood and let the smell be fresh._

_He was too hurt to do anything with his anger though. And he was too hurt to fight back all that much when they did the same to him the next day. And the next night, then the day after that. They raped him when they were angry. They raped him when they were happy. They raped him when they were bored._

_Dagur soon got very sick of it, of being these men's "bitch" as they'd called him. He was the youngest and the smallest, but he didn't have to remain the smallest. He figured it would be a long, torturous process to strengthen himself. He'd have to heal first, and to heal he had to stop fighting and struggling, because maybe if he didn't fight, they wouldn't beat him. So he stopped fighting and let them do what they wanted, and he was correct that it would stop them from beating him. It made him hate himself, because it made him seem weak, made him seem like he was giving up._ He _knew he wasn't weak, but no one else knew that._

_There was another thing that made him hate himself, made him despise himself even worse than letting this happen._

_His body began to enjoy it. It still hurt. Oh yes, it still hurt, but there was something inside him that flooded him through with pleasure. They stimulated it with their fingers and their cocks, and when they wanted to be exceptionally cruel, their fists. It didn't quite get him hard at first, though it kindled a sweet burning in his genitals and his stomach. Eventually it did start to make him hard, and the men laughed at him for that. They'd mostly been fucking him on his hands and knees or his stomach, but at that they now would roll him onto his back to laugh at his erection. This made everything more difficult. It made Dagur want to snap, fight them, punch out teeth. But no. He had to wait till he had the necessary strength to take them on and win._

_To help himself through his rape, Dagur would close his eyes and imagine that this was Hiccup fucking him, and that he wanted it. Dagur had wanted this the other way around with Hiccup, had wanted to hold him down and fuck him till he was incoherent, but if he couldn't have that, he could at least imagine it this way._

_He thought of Hiccup every day. His thoughts differed depending on what mood he was in. He fantasized a lot. Never about killing him, but certainly about hurting him, about making him suffer for leaving him here, for not now being in his grasp. He'd fantasize about doing this to him, and sometimes in his mind Hiccup would be crying and screaming about how he didn't want it - that excited him. Other times Hiccup wanted it, held him close, kissed him, pulled fingers through his hair. That one made Dagur sad sometimes, because he knew he would never get that kind of affection from Hiccup, even if he ever did get out of here._

_He couldn't think of getting out though. That was too many steps ahead in his plan, something too far out of his reach._

_Once Dagur was no longer being beaten and healing from his wounds, he began exercising. He'd do pull-ups from the bars of the cell, sit ups, push ups, use stones as weights. The men became wary with him now, went back to holding him down while fucking him, but even as he gained muscle, he didn't act. Not yet. He had to be in the right shape to do it, to make sure that he never ended up as their bitch again._

_Dagur lost track of the time. He could only tell day and night by the changing of the guards, but he didn't know how many days had passed, each one filled with thoughts of Hiccup to pass the time and soothe his emotional hurts. Eventually, he was ready, stronger and bigger than he'd ever been, his muscles bulging, straining to wound and kill._

_He murdered the man who was the leader of those in the cell. And then he murdered those who fought to avenge his death. One of them fought back with a sharp rock, made a horrible slash down the right side of his face that almost blinded him._

_The guards came and broke up the fight, took Dagur from the cell. He was hoping that he'd be taken to a separate cell to be on his own, but instead he was bound and whipped and his hair cut. The cutting of his hair hurt him more than anything else. Hair was a sign of honor, and now his was gone._

_And instead of giving him his own cell, the guards threw him back. The bodies had been removed. There was blood on the stone floor. His mingled with it. He was hurting too much to fight back when the men decided to rape him. They held him on his back to leave him suffering from his wounds there. His right eye was crusted with blood and he was unable to open it. Nails dug into the slash on his face. They wanted revenge for what he'd done, and he was helpless enough for it to be exacted._

  
  
  


Dagur was back in that horrible cell. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was bound to be whipped again, to create new scars on his back.

Dagur felt hands all over him, and he kicked and writhed and yelled.

“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t _touch_ me!”

The touching didn’t stop. Like that first time he’d shouted for them to stop, it didn’t work. It had never worked for them. This was what had made him realize that not everyone listened to yelling and shrieking. He was glad that his soldiers did. He’d almost been convinced that that didn’t work anymore, that his words were absolutely meaningless. 

Dagur had had sex before all of that, but of course rape was entirely different. It had come from people who were cruel, who wanted to hurt him, who he didn’t want or know. They did it out of the desire to hurt him and own him. Did they own him now? No, no they couldn’t. He’d killed them. He’d killed all of them. That was when he’d gotten a cell on his own, had gotten what appeared to be special treatment compared to his fellow prisoners. And then he’d gotten out. He _was out_.

That didn’t help. That didn’t make the hands go away. That didn’t destroy the sensations he was having _inside._ This kind of thing had happened to him before, but never to this extent. Never had he had these sensations so powerfully. They’d never felt so real before. He was slightly aware of the fact that he was still screaming.

He heard the door open, footsteps rush in, and for a moment he panicked, expected it to be one of the guards to drag him out for a whipping. He scrambled onto his back, eyes flying open, kicking with his feet to get backwards and away.

Kind green eyes, unkempt auburn hair, a concerned look. It wasn’t a guard: it was Hiccup. 

Dagur pulled in a huge gasp of air, chest heaving, eyes flitting around wildly. 

“Dagur, what is it?!” 

“I… I…” His mouth was dry. He had no idea how to explain.

“Dagur?” Hiccup knelt in front of him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“F-flashbacks,” Dagur answered. “I, uh… cells.” He shook his head. There were still tears on his face. He brought up his bound hands to wipe at them, feeling embarrassed at Hiccup seeing him like this. This was the second time he’d seen him cry in the span of a few hours. “They’re bad.” 

“I mean… yeah,” Hiccup answered. Dagur remembered that he had experience with being locked up as well.

Dagur moved quickly, burying his face into Hiccup’s shoulder. Hiccup jumped, clearly unsure of how to respond to this. Dagur didn’t blame him, but there was nothing else to do to comfort himself. He tried to take deep breaths, but they stayed heavy. If he could just have his hands untied, he would feel a lot better. 

“I thought of you,” Dagur told him, though he had told him of this before. “To get through all of it, I thought of you.”

“Through all of what, Dagur?” Dagur wanted Hiccup to put an arm around him, but he didn’t. He was just frozen. Dagur didn’t know what he’d expected. Hiccup was still wary of his presence and his touch, which was fair if he was being honest with himself.

“What the Hel is all this about?!” The outraged voice was Heather’s in the door of the stall. Dagur looked up at her, and the anger in her eyes made him want to shrink back, but he didn’t. He tried to stand on shaky legs, and was able to when Hiccup helped him. He gave him a grateful look before facing Heather.

“I, uh…” How was he supposed to explain all of this? He didn’t truly want to explain all of this to Hiccup and Heather, but he might have to. And maybe he would be able to talk them out of the mission now that the both of them were here. 

“Of course he doesn’t have an explanation,” Heather said in disdain, putting a hand on her hip. “Probably just screaming to get our attention.”

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t.” Dagur frantically shook his head. Dammit, he felt like crying again. He wanted to get Hiccup and Heather to understand while somehow sparing them all the gory details.

Heather came right up to him, shoving Hiccup aside, put her nose right to his.

“Then _explain_.”

Dagur didn’t know how to do this. He sat down hard in the pile of hay that was now all destroyed from his struggling.

“Well, um… prison made me hate cells and being locked up, okay?”

“ _That_ much?” Heather asked. He didn’t like how the both of them were looking down at him, but he also knew he couldn’t stand for this. He didn’t like the tone in her voice. She clearly didn’t believe him.

“Bad things happened to me there,” Dagur told them. He brought up his hands to rub at the scar on his face with one of them. “Really bad things.”

Hiccup sat down in front of him, bringing himself to eye level. That made Dagur more comfortable. He was gazing at him compassionately.

“What kinds of things?”

“Lots of beatings,” Dagur said. “Bad ones that broke bones. Whippings, fights.” He inhaled deeply before saying the next word. Apparently he would have to tell them. “Rape.”

“Sorry, didn’t hear that last one,” Hiccup said, scooting forward a little bit. Dagur had spoken too quietly, afraid of saying it.

“I was raped,” Dagur said, his voice audible, somehow even. “I got thrown into a cell with a bunch of men and they…” He trailed off, incapable of finishing, not needing to. “I’m sorry. I was having flashbacks, and it felt like they were touching me again. I-it’s never been this bad before.”

Hiccup and Heather looked between each other. Heather had her arms crossed, but her face was softening. She sat down too.

Hiccup laid a hand on Dagur’s, his touch gentle. “Dagur, I’m… I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.” He reached for the knots in his bindings.

“Whoa, Hiccup! What are you doing?!” Heather was startled by the action, grabbed at Hiccup’s hand and yanked it away.

Hiccup blinked at Heather in shock. “U-untying him. What? You think I shouldn’t?”

“No.” Heather firmly shook her head. “We still can’t trust him.”

Anger prickled in Dagur’s blood. “Oh, so you think I’m lying about this too? You just think I’m a huge fucking liar who’s incapable of having the truth come out of his mouth?”

Heather looked at a slight loss. “Well, maybe. I-”

“I. Never. Lied. To you,” Dagur enunciated, staring Heather down. “Not once. And I’m not lying now. You think I’m so insensitive that I’d make up a thing like that?”

Heather was silent, lips pursed together. She didn’t seem to know what to think. That was a common reaction around him. She didn’t protest when Hiccup went to untie him again.

It felt good to have the rope off his wrists. Dagur rubbed at them. The skin was raw from the way he’d been pulling to try to get free.

“Okay,” Heather finally said. “I believe you about this. But why should we believe you about the shipyard? How do we know you’re not a spy?”

Dagur sighed. He was hoping that maybe if she believed him in this one thing, she’d believe him in the other, but of course that wasn’t the case. This was Heather, and she was just as paranoid as he was. He wasn’t sure if it just ran in the family, or if they’d both been through too much to trust anyone.

“I don’t have any way to prove it to you.”

  
  
  


Dagur was allowed to sleep in the stables, unbound and thankfully _not_ locked in a cell. Heather still didn’t trust him, and Hiccup seemed skeptical, but they both seemed to feel guilty about locking him up earlier and causing those horrible flashbacks. Even now, Dagur still felt off, but that didn’t matter. What he had to do mattered more. He had to go to Viggo’s shipyard and somehow prove to them that he wasn’t a spy and that the place was indeed a deathtrap. Luckily, they’d left him with Shattermaster. He’d only known the dragon for a day and some hours, as it was the middle of the night, but he felt a companionship with him. All these years he’d been killing dragons and now he’d befriended one. If only his father could see him now, but he’d been missing for years. Maybe he was dead now, and Heather thought that he had killed him.

Dagur stopped in packing his saddlebag. If there was a way to convince Heather that he hadn’t killed their father, maybe she would trust him.

But how could he convince her of that? She already thought he was a liar.

Giving up on that thought, Dagur closed the saddlebag. This mission was important. If he didn’t do something, the only two people he’d ever loved would be dead or worse.

“Going somewhere?” Heather asked from the door of the stables. Dagur had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Yeah,” Dagur answered. He wasn’t going to be swayed. “I have to go to the shipyard and somehow prove that it’s going to be a suicide mission.”

“And how are you going to prove that without someone else going with you?”

Dagur looked at her, and it took him a moment to realize just what she was implying. Once he did, his eyes widened and dread sank into his gut.

“Heather, no! You can’t come with me! It’s too dangerous!”

“I can decide what’s too dangerous for myself, thanks.” She was walking past him, going towards her dragon’s stall. Windshear was still sleeping, had either slept through his breakdown or had gone back to sleep afterwards. 

Dagur grabbed her by the upper arm, spun her around to face him. “Not this time, sis. Trust me on that.”

Heather moved his hand off of her. “If it’s too dangerous, then why are _you_ going?”

“To save you guys,” Dagur answered. “You and Hiccup… you’re the only two people in my life I’ve ever cared about. I can’t have anything bad happening to either of you.”

“So you don’t care about the rest of the Riders?” Heather raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Well, I do, since they’re your friends, and they’re not really a bad bunch,” Dagur replied. “But you and Hiccup are my priority.”

Heather looked at him for a long time, and Dagur nervously cracked a half-smile, not sure what to do. Heather was gauging how much she could trust him, how good his answer was. 

“I’m coming with you.”

Dagur opened his mouth to protest, but Heather cut him off before he could get a word out.

“There’s no stopping me, and there’s clearly no stopping you, so I’m going with you.”

Dagur took on a grim expression, but he nodded. “Okay, but let’s both be careful, alright?”

  
  
  


Heather and Dagur left a note for the Riders and then flew in silence in the night, the stars bright all around them. It was chilly and the air was wet, but Dagur didn’t mind. He wasn’t at all used to a view like this, and he found it beautiful, albeit slightly disconcerting. Being surrounded by sky with nothing but the ocean below made it difficult to tell when one ended and the other began. Everything was just shades of indigo and black. 

They didn’t speak to each other until gray began to touch the sky.

“I didn’t know that happened to you,” Heather said. “I’m sorry.”

Dagur shrugged, unsure of how to respond to something so heavy and emotional. He couldn’t deny it was emotional. He’d been screaming and crying about it only a few hours ago.

After a few moments of silence, Heather spoke again.

“Guess that’s something we have in common.”

Dagur sharply turned his head towards her, shocked. It seemed his emotions didn’t know how to react. Surprise came first, and then the heat of anger. Who had done such a thing to his sister?!

Heather was looking ahead at the sky instead of at him. “I mean, it only happened to me once, but it still happened.”

“Who?” Dagur’s voice shook with rage.

It was Heather’s turn to shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t even really remember his face. It happened the night that… my village got destroyed.”

Dagur hated himself. The anger turned inwards, fire scorching his skin. He lowered his head. There was an ache in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” His words were choked. “I didn’t… I shouldn’t have… Gods, I’m so fucking sorry.” Now he looked at her, and she was meeting his gaze. “You know that’s my biggest regret. I wish I could go back and slap my younger self in the face, beat him until he promised he wouldn’t do that. If that man who did that is still alive, I’ll find him and I’ll kill him. I promise.”

Heather looked away again. “That’s your biggest regret? Not killing our father?” Her tone was dark.

Dagur didn’t know how to handle this.

“I didn’t.”

She snorted cynically.

“No, I’m being honest. I _didn’t_ kill our father.”

Heather must have heard how earnest his voice was. She lifted her head. “What?”

“I didn’t,” Dagur repeated. “He just… vanished, got lost at sea or something, and I told everyone I’d killed him so that they’d fear me and accept me as chief. It gave them no choice but to. That’s why power fell to me instead of the council. Everyone believed it.”

Heather narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said you never lied to me.”

“Still haven’t. I never told you I killed him. You were just willing to believe what you heard.”

Heather pursed her lips, gazed straight ahead. She apparently didn’t know what to do with this information. 

“We’re almost there,” was all she said after a time. Dagur didn’t know why he’d wished for anything else. 

  
  
  


Dagur did his best to stay on Windshear’s back. Pain lanced through the right side of his abdomen, then all the way through his body, and he felt like he was going to pass out. He would have preferred that if he didn’t have to stay on a dragon’s back.

Though, he found it in himself to laugh a little.

“What the Hel are you laughing about?” Heather asked, voice rife with concern.

“I just think-” Dagur started- “that I can probably find a better way to show my care for someone than being impaled by a sharp object. Happened with Hiccup too.”

That was what he’d done this time too. He and Heather had tried a sneak attack on the shipyard, but it hadn’t gone overly well. Someone had shot at Heather, and she’d been paying too much attention to something else to dodge. Of course, Dagur had been paying attention to her, and he’d flown right in front of the arrow. At the angle it had hit, it had slid right through a gap in his armor on the lower right side, and he’d been impaled an inch away from his navel. The arrow had knocked him right off of Shattermaster, who promptly fell into the clutches of a net. Heather had managed to catch Dagur, break off the shaft of the arrow, and then fly the both of them out of there. He hoped to the gods he wasn’t dying, not when he and Heather had seemingly met on common ground and made up. 

“Don’t laugh,” Heather chided. “You might cut yourself up more.”

Dagur figured she was right about that, but he just hadn’t been able to help it. Yes, flowers would be a lot better than arrows when showing one’s love. 

“Why’d you do that?” Heather demanded as Dagur clung to her, head rested against her shoulder. She sounded angry, which seemed to be her mood around him recently.

“To save you.”

“I can save myself.”

“I-I know.” Damn, this really did hurt. Dagur looked down, saw blood seeping out onto his armor. That would rust. “But I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Stupid,” Heather said. “You’re so stupid!”

Dagur smiled weakly. “Sounds as if you don’t like me being hurt.”

“I don’t.” Heather inhaled sharply as if realizing what she’d just said. “I-I mean, how am I going to kill you if someone else does it first?” she corrected.

“Mm-hm.” Her words weren’t at all convincing. She cared about him. At least now that was clear. Dagur closed his eyes, relaxed his grip on her.

“Dagur?” Heather was twisting her head to see him. “Dagur, hey! Keep your eyes open! Stay with me, alright?” There was panic in her voice.

“Hurts so much,” Dagur protested. A few more seconds and he slid into unconsciousness.

  
  
  


Dagur woke in a bed. Surely that’s what this was and not death. In death he wouldn’t have still felt the wound in his stomach.

He groaned, tried to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder kept him down.

“No, don’t sit up.” That voice was Heather’s. The hand was Hiccup’s. He smiled faintly. The two people he loved. He opened his eyes to look at them. They each sat on the side of the bed, Hiccup on his right and Heather on his left.

“Heather told me what you did,” Hiccup said. He shook his head, looking upset. “I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I did,” Dagur told him. “To protect the both of you.” He looked to Heather. She had a scratch on her face, but she otherwise looked okay. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days,” Heather responded. “We took out the arrow and Snotlout stitched you up.”

“Snotlout?” Dagur asked. Now wasn’t the time for joking, so he said his name correctly. 

Hiccup and Heather both nodded.

“He’s really good at sewing,” Hiccup explained. “He went all pale, but his hands were steady.”

Speaking of hands, Dagur realized that Hiccup’s was still on his shoulder. He reached up one of his own and took it. Then he took one of Heather’s. Yes, that was better. So much better. 

“Thank you,” Dagur said. He truly meant it. It felt good to be trusted, and wonderful to be taken care of. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Heather asked gently. “Does it hurt badly?”

Dagur shook his head. He wasn’t crying from pain, but from happiness, acceptance. These feelings were almost completely foreign to him, and they were so lovely. He wanted to hold onto them and cherish them, hold them just like their hands.

“I’m just happy,” Dagur told them. He brought Heather’s hand near his face, met her eyes that were the same shape as his. “You forgive me, right?”

Dagur had been planning on doing this, but Heather was the one to take his hand to her mouth and kiss it. She took her other hand and folded his fingers over hers. “Yes, I forgive you.” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, whispered into his ear: “I forgive you.”

Art by [dagur-nott](https://dagur-nott.tumblr.com/)!


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